To Be The Equal Of Reality You

Gamblers And Lovers Really Play To Lose.

To Be The Equal Of Reality You Must Learn How To Ignore It Without Danger.

Art—the Meaning Of The Pattern Of Our Common Actions In Reality. The Cloth-of-gold That Hides Behind The Sackcloth Of Reality, Forced Out By The Pain Of Human Memory.

The Loved Object Is Simply One That Has Shared An Experience At The Same Moment Of Time, Narcissistically; And The Desire To Be Near The Beloved Object Is At First Not Due To The Idea Of Possessing It, But Simply To Let The Two Experiences Compare Themselves, Like Reflections In Different Mirrors. All This May Precede The First Look, Kiss, Or Touch; Precede Ambition, Pride, Or Envy; Precede The First Declarations Which Mark The Turning Point—for From Here Love Degenerates Into Habit, Possession, And Back To Loneliness.

Of Women, The Most We Can Say, Not Being Frenchmen, Is That They Are Burrowing Animals.